by Diana Palmer
He was watching her, waiting, uneasy.
She felt sick to the soles of her feet. In the heat of the moment she’d forgotten everything she knew about him. Now, when it was too late, her reason came back.
“I’m not quite as bad as they made me out to be,” he said after a minute. “I’m not wanted anywhere in the States. In fact, I was only arrested once, when I was about twenty, on conspiracy charges. But they were dropped. That’s gospel.”
That made a difference. She relaxed a little as she looked at him. “I don’t know a lot about the real world,” she said after a minute. “I’ve been sheltered all my life, by my mother and, especially, by Barb. I’ve only had one or two dates, and they ran for the border after Barb grilled them when we got home again.”
He cocked an amused eyebrow. “Your sister intimidates men?”
She nodded. “She’s formidable.”
“Are you afraid of her?”
“Not afraid, exactly. But I’ve never disobeyed her much.”
He frowned worriedly. “Did you tell her you were going out with me?”
She blushed scarlet.
“Uh-huh,” he murmured.
“She’d have told me not to go,” she explained.
That made him feel better. If she was willing to risk her sister’s wrath for him, she must feel something.
“And you wanted to go,” he said softly.
Her eyes searched his with pure anguish. “It was all I thought about,” she confessed. “I wanted to see you, so much.”
“I wanted to see you, too.” He moved closer, his big hands reaching for her shoulders. He pulled her closer. “Take a chance on me,” he coaxed. “I can’t make any promises right now, but I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”
She smiled weakly. “Me, neither.”
His warm hands reached up to her cheeks. He searched her eyes hungrily before he bent and kissed her with aching tenderness.
He wrapped her up tight and kissed her until her mouth felt bruised.
“Stay with me tonight,” he ground out against her lips.
“All…night?”
“All night, Delia.” He lifted his head. “Yeah, I know, we’re both too sore to do much except hold each other, but I want that. I want it more than I can tell you.”
So did she. “What can I tell the desk clerk at my hotel if Barb calls and asks where I am? She’ll be frantic.”
“I’ve got a friend named Karen.” He smiled when she looked jealous. “She’s sixty and she loves a conspiracy, especially a romantic one. She’ll tell your sister that you met her here at the casino and accepted an offer to go sailing early in the morning. She’s got a yacht.”
“She does?” she exclaimed. “I’ve never been sailing!”
He chuckled at the excitement in her eyes. “Would you like to spend the day on the ocean? I’ll call her right now.”
He held Delia’s hand as he went back into the bedroom and pulled his cell phone out of his slacks’ pocket on the floor. He tossed the slacks into a chair and pushed a button on the phone.
He dropped down into an armchair and pulled Delia onto his lap. “Hi, Karen,” he said with a smile in his voice. “How’s it going?”
There was a pause. He tucked Delia against his shoulder and kissed her damp hair. “I’ve got a girl,” he said. There was another pause, and he laughed. “No, this one doesn’t gamble or drink. She’s from Texas and she teaches quilting.” Another pause. He laughed again. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. How would you like to meet her? She’s never been on a boat.”
He turned his head and looked down at Delia with warm, sparkling eyes. “We’ll meet you at the marina at 10:00 a.m. Bring a basket. You bet! See you.”
He closed the flip phone. “What’s wrong?” he asked when she frowned.
“I don’t have a change of clothes,” she said. “I’ll have to go by the hotel…”
“Baloney. What size are you?”
“I’m…I’m a ten,” she replied.
He picked up the phone again and spoke, but this time in fluent Spanish. He nodded and spoke again. He hung up. “They’re sending over a selection of shorts, skirts, and sundresses. You’ve already got those cute little zip-up pink sneakers,” he teased, indicating them on the floor.
“You can do that?” she stammered. “I mean, just have people send a shop to you?”
“Bibbi’s my cousin,” he said lazily. “She runs a boutique in the arcade down the street.”
“But she doesn’t know me.”
“I told her to bring pastels, pinks and blues and yellows,” he said. “I notice you like those colors.”
“You’re just…amazing,” she managed to say.
He smiled and bent to kiss her softly. “Wait,” he whispered. “You haven’t seen anything yet. What do you want for supper?”
“It can’t be that late,” she began.
He pulled a clock around on the table beside the chair. Amazingly they’d been in the room for three hours.
She started to speak and couldn’t.
He bent and kissed her eyelids shut. “I know it seemed quick, but it really wasn’t,” he whispered. “And we slept.”
She looked at his face with wide, curious eyes. “I’ve never done anything like this,” she said, trying to make him understand. “I take forever just ordering food at a restaurant. I’m very deliberate.”
“But you rushed into this without being able to think and you’re upset,” he said perceptively. “If it’s any consolation, it was just like that for me. I usually think things through myself. I’m not impulsive. But this was beyond my control.”
“That’s what I was just thinking.”
He touched her mouth with his fingertips, noting its slight swell. “You were waiting until you married, weren’t you?”
She nodded sadly.
“But you’d want kids, a home, a place you belonged.”
“Yes.”
His thumb rubbed at her lower lip and he scowled. “Would you want me, like that? Would you want me to belong to you?”
Her lips parted on a surge of feeling. “Oh, yes.”
He was still scowling. “Nobody ever wanted me for long,” he said absently. “For my money, sure, for a fling, an affair. But not with the works. A home and kids.”
“Why not?” she wondered.
“Maybe I’ve liked the wrong sort of women.”
“What sort?” she asked, because she was genuinely curious.
“Beautiful women with long legs and no scruples,” he said simply. “Models, showgirls, even an actress. They liked fancy cars and easy money and plenty of plunder.”
“Girl pirates,” she said, trying not to look jealous.
Her eyes were sizzling. “Why, you’re jealous,” he mused, surprised.
“Why would I be jealous of beauty and talent?” she asked wistfully. “I mean, I’m so drop-dead gorgeous and talented—”
“You’re beautiful all over, especially your heart,” he interrupted. “And I consider quilting an art.”
“I’ve never been a man-killer.”
“That’s what you think,” he said with a grin.
Delia’s eyes twinkled. “But I’m nothing to look at,” she protested.
He wrapped her up tight and smiled down at her. “I’ve already told you, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. To me, you’re a knockout.”
She was suspicious. “You aren’t just saying that because you feel guilty?”
He shook his head. “I value honesty above everything. Just like you.” He did feel guilty at saying that, because he was involved in the biggest lie of his life, and he couldn’t tell her.
Chapter Six
The hotel sent their supper order over to his house in a van. They shared shrimp cocktail, steak and salad, and a bottle of champagne. But Marcus had her stay in the bedroom when it arrived, because he didn’t want his staff to know that he had a woman in his house.
“It isn’t that I’
m ashamed of you,” he told her when they sat at the table savoring the delicious food. “But I don’t want it to get back to your people.”
“Especially Barb,” she agreed.
“Yeah.”
She finished her meal and reached for a piece of lemon cake with a pudding center as Marcus refilled their cups with fresh coffee that he’d brewed.
“This is delicious,” she said with real feeling, savoring it. “I can make a lemon cake, but not with this filling!”
“I’ll have the chef share his recipe and you can make it for me.”
“But you’ve got a chef,” she argued.
He reached across the table for her hand. “Nothing wrong with home-cooked food. The way to a man’s heart…?”
She smiled.
“Has Karen lived in the Bahamas a long time?” she asked.
He nodded. “She’s British, but she came down here for a holiday and never went home. She used to be an anthropologist,” he added. “She went on digs in Egypt in her younger days. Now, she’s happy piddling around in her flower garden or knitting.”
“Does she quilt?” she asked.
He nodded. “She taught me machine piecing, although I rarely use it. I much prefer hand-quilting.”
“Me, too,” she agreed.
The cell phone rang suddenly. He picked it up and listened. “No,” he said curtly. “No, I can’t. Not today.” He looked over at Delia thoughtfully. “That was your fault, not mine. How long are you going to be in Miami? The end of the week. Yeah. You can call me when you get back. We’ll see. I said, we’ll see. Yeah.”
He hung up, but immediately dialed again. “Smith? Listen, I don’t want any more calls today. I’m forwarding everything over to you.” He listened. “Tell them I’m unavailable until tomorrow night. Got that?” He pursed his lips. “None of your business. Do what I told you. If there’s an emergency, you handle it. Yes, I’ll back you up. Fine. Thanks.”
He put the phone away and pulled his own slice of chocolate cake over to him. “Don’t you like chocolate?” he asked.
“I get migraine headaches from it sometimes,” she said. “I don’t want to ruin tomorrow.”
He grinned and dug into the dessert with gusto.
He liked the windows open at night, Delia noticed. She lay in his arms in the king-sized bed and thought how difficult it was going to be to explain this to Barb. Then she felt the warmth of his big body next to her, and the wonder of intimacy she’d had with him, and she didn’t care. Whatever the cost, she was truly happy for the first time in memory. She’d take the consequences and deal with them, whatever they were. He felt her move and his arms brought her close, enfolded her in their warm strength.
“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, half-asleep. “Don’t ever leave me.”
“I never will,” she whispered back. “I promise.”
She curled into his body with a sigh and went back to sleep. If Barb called the hotel to make sure she was all right, they’d tell her that Delia was staying at Karen Bainbridge’s house, and Karen would tell them the same thing. It was nice to have an alibi. She didn’t consider that it would be the first time she’d lied to Barb. A lot of firsts were happening to her. She’d grown up and she was certainly old enough to make her own decisions, her own choices. Maybe this was terribly wrong, but she’d never wanted anything more than these days with Marcus.
A tiny voice in the back of her mind warned her that some things came at an exorbitant price. She refused to listen. All that mattered was this sweet feeling of belonging, of…love. She sighed softly and fell asleep.
The next morning, Delia was dressed and waiting in the living room when the boutique owner, a pert olive-skinned woman with dancing dark eyes, waltzed in behind two men carrying boxes.
“Hi, Bibbi,” Marcus greeted.
“Hi, yourself. I brought a selection,” she told Marcus, turning a cheek for his kiss. “¿Esta ella?” she added in Spanish, nodding at Delia. “Bonita,” she added with a grin.
“She’s pretty, all right,” Marcus agreed with a smile. “Okay, honey, take a look and pick out what you want.”
“Do you take credit cards?” she asked Bibbi.
“I’m paying,” Marcus began.
“You are not,” Delia said firmly, smiling at Bibbi. “I’ve got my credit card.”
Bibbi gave Marcus a speaking glance. “A woman with principles,” she said. “That’s a novelty in your life, cousin,” she added wickedly. “Yes, I take credit cards and you’re in luck, because you hit a sale. All these are thirty percent off.”
“Wow!” Delia exclaimed, and dug into the boxes.
An hour and six outfits later, Bibbi took down the information, shook hands, packed up her merchandise and followed the two men who carried it out. She waved at Marcus with a wide grin.
“You’re going to be a pain in the butt, aren’t you?” Marcus asked Delia as she tried to decide which outfit to wear sailing.
She glanced at him. “About letting you buy me things? Of course. Did you expect to have to pay me off for last night?” she added seriously.
He stuck his hands into his slacks’ pockets. “I always expect to pay for whatever I get,” he replied, his tone somber and disillusioned.
She could only imagine the sort of women he was used to. She put her new treasures down and went to him.
“I wanted what happened,” she said in a gentle tone. “I didn’t do it for personal gain. I don’t play that sort of game.”
He grimaced. “Sorry,” he said tersely.
She searched his dark eyes quietly. “It’s all right. We don’t know a lot about each other. We’re bound to make assumptions.”
“A few, here and there, maybe,” he agreed. He tugged her close. “We’ll stop by a restaurant along the way to Karen’s boat and get breakfast. I told her we’d be there about ten. That suit you?”
She smiled. “Yes. But I still haven’t decided what to wear.”
He went to the pile of clothing and tugged out pink Capri pants and a filmy white cotton top and a black and pink floral bathing suit. He handed them to her.
“You’re going to be bossy,” she surmised.
He grinned. “Count on it. I come from a macho culture. You’ll have to be pretty tough to stand up to me.”
“I think I’ll manage,” she replied, smiling back. “Okay, I’ll go change.”
She started toward the bedroom and suddenly stopped. She turned and found him watching her hungrily.
He cursed under his breath, hating his own weakness as he moved into the bedroom behind her.
He tossed her clothes on the bed and bent to her mouth, sweeping her up against him ardently.
“You’re all I think about,” he muttered against her mouth. “I’m sure it’s unhealthy.”
She linked her arms around his neck, tingling at the pleasure it gave her. “There’s probably a pill for it.”
“I don’t want to be cured,” he whispered, kissing her again.
His hands worked on her clothes, smoothing off everything except her bra and panties. He looked down at her with unbridled desire and his eyes asked a question as he brushed his thumb against her nipple through the lacy fabric.
She grimaced. “I want to,” she assured him.
“But you’re still sore,” he guessed.
She nodded grimly.
He laughed shortly. “It’s my own fault. I was greedy.”
“So was I.”
He kissed her lightly and reached for the Capri pants, holding them for her to step into. He fastened them around her small waist and then stuffed her into the blouse. He reached up and loosened the hair she’d tucked into a bun. “There,” he murmured, studying her. “Much better. I think I like having my own dress-up doll.”
“We’ll run out of clothes eventually,” she said.
He shrugged. “I’ll learn to make them.”
She laughed. “I don’t have to learn. I can already make clothes.”
“S
how off.”
“I’ll teach you,” she promised.
His smile was wicked. “There are several more things I plan to teach you, too,” he added, and he didn’t mean sewing.
“Be still my heart,” she whispered.
He kissed her slowly, fiercely. “We’ve barely touched the surface,” he said. “Wait and see.”
He put her away after a minute and tugged her by the hand. “Breakfast,” he said again. “I’m starved, but food will have to do for now.”
She laughed as she went with him.
He stopped at the little sports car and looked down at her for a long time.
“What are you looking for?”
“I was wondering what you looked like when you were a little girl,” he said. “I was thinking that kids are nice.”
Her heart jumped wildly. “We’ve only known each other for two days,” she began.
“Hell. How long does it take to know how you feel?” he demanded. “Two days, two years, I’d feel the same. There’s already a connection between us. Tell me you don’t feel it. You want my kids. I can see it in your eyes.”
She blushed. “I’ve always wanted children,” she said in a husky, aching tone.
“I haven’t really thought about having them until now,” he told her. “Maybe I had some vague idea of the future, but nothing definite. You’d look right at home with kids around you.”
She nibbled her lower lip. “Aren’t you just making the best of a mistake, by saying that?”
“When you know me better, you’ll see that I never make mistakes,” he said blandly. “Being perfect, I’m above that sort of thing.”
“Right.”
He grinned. “Get in. We’re wasting daylight, isn’t that what you Texas girls say? I love Western movies.”
“Listen, I can’t even ride a horse,” she protested.
“I’ll bet you look smashing in a cowboy hat.”